


sunshine ladies

by The_Eclectic_Bookworm



Series: nobody's leftovers [4]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, background but very present faith/tara
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 07:30:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21193925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Eclectic_Bookworm/pseuds/The_Eclectic_Bookworm
Summary: “No, of course not!” Anya continues. “Look, he’s—it’s nice to see him, okay? I don’t care at all that you two dated. He was my business partner, and Ilikehim, and I think very highly of him. We both know him well enough to know that he isnothere to steal you away.” A laugh. “Well, he’s not here to stealmeaway either, though it’s very flattering that you think that.”Her words stick in Giles’s mind for the rest of the night.





	sunshine ladies

**Author's Note:**

> SO. this was VERY MUCH an accident and an impulse, but every fic in this series is basically wish fulfillment for me at this point. why not write a sprawling 10k word fic about an (imo) extremely valid ship that gets absolutely no attention? and in a fic series full of rarepairs, no less?

“Jenny isn’t in,” says Anya when Giles enters the Apothecary. “She’s off on some magical snail-gathering trip in the Bahamas or something. I’m honestly not sure _where _she’s gone, because she keeps on sending me postcards from different places, but you know how it is when you’re trying to connect with various worldwide magical suppliers—”

“What?” says Giles, utterly bemused.

“Well, I thought I’d save you some time,” says Anya, carefully shutting the ledger. She isn’t looking at Giles with the open hostility of two years ago, and it strikes him as a bit odd: the last time they’d seen each other, Anya had looked five seconds away from physically assaulting him in defense of Jenny’s honor. This Anya is looking at him with the half-interested indifference that she used to _before _Jenny entered all of their lives again. “You_ are _here to see Jenny, aren’t you? She mentioned that you’d drop by at some point, but she was hoping that it would be _before _she left to do her whole international-networking thing.”

“International networking?” Giles repeats.

Anya grins—a bright, delighted smile—and says, “I’ve adapted your business model into something less antiquated and ridiculous. Jenny’s in charge of overseas and online business, and she’s setting up an online branch of the Apothecary so that anyone, anywhere, can order the rare and specific supplies they need. But that means connecting with a whole bunch of rare and specific suppliers, and convincing them that being part of an online network would be profitable, and that’s not even getting into cutting a deal that will bring in profits for the Apothecary—”

Giles is beginning to get the sense that his brief, pleasant lunch with Jenny is not going to happen any time soon. “Yes, well, do tell her I-I stopped by,” he stammers awkwardly, not entirely sure what to do in this situation. He hasn’t been alone with Anya in a very long time. Not since—well, not since Jenny was haunting the Magic Box, and Anya was casting him furtive, nervous looks when she thought he wasn’t looking. And _that _had made him think something _truly _foolish, something he’s rather ashamed of believing for as long as he did, but—

“You have such a panicked look on your face,” says Anya, an incredulous laugh in her voice. “Did I scare you _that _much, last time we talked?”

Giles ducks his head, embarrassed.

“Listen, just because Jenny isn’t here doesn’t mean I can’t be hospitable.” Anya swings herself awkwardly over the counter, jumping down to the floor and crossing the room to stand right in front of Giles. “Do you want to stay a little longer? You flew out all the way here to see her, and I know I’m not _exactly _as charmingly flirtatious and stunningly beautiful as my girlfriend, but I can still make a mean cup of tea.”

One word in that sentence sticks out to Giles. “Girlfriend?” he says.

Anya blinks. A slow blush colors her cheeks. A little nervously, she says, “I thought—didn’t Faith tell you? She says she’s still in touch with you guys, but—”

“Well, I’ve been working largely in England, as of late,” says Giles awkwardly. “I’m sure I’m a bit out of the loop. What exactly didn’t Faith tell me?”

“Um,” says Anya. She looks extremely ashamed. “Well. I-I guess—I mean, I thought _Jenny _might have told you—”

“Jenny and I have been communicating largely through email,” Giles explains, realizing at the same time as Anya why this news has taken so long to reach him. “My work rebuilding the Council has taken up most of my time, and I’ve only managed a few brief calls with her over the last year. It seems to me that she wanted to tell me this news in person, and I haven’t been able to fly over until—well, now, I suppose.”

“Oh.” Anya looks down at her hands.

“Anya, if—if you’re worried about my reaction, please don’t be,” says Giles gently. “Jenny and I haven’t been involved in a very long time. I’ll always love her, but more important than my feelings for her is the fact that she is with someone who makes her happy.” He reaches out, resting a hand on her shoulder. Anya looks up, eyes wide and almost childishly soft. “And I’m sure she is.”

“I-I hope so,” says Anya shyly. “I mean, she smiles a whole lot more than she used to when she first came back from the dead.”

Something stings a bit about that. Giles remembers those first few weeks—wrapped up in Jenny, the physicality of her, the _realness _of someone who was warm and soft and loved him, he had forgotten the importance of loving her in return. He had only seen what she was able to give him, not the ways in which he needed to support her. He doesn’t like being reminded of how wholly and completely a mess he was when the love of his life re-entered it, so he forces a smile and says, “Well. I’m glad that’s the case.”

And of course he doesn’t blame Anya. He never would. Anya’s desire to support Jenny in any way she could was what founded their friendship, and he can easily see that transitioning into a healthy, happy romance between the two. No—the way Giles and Jenny’s relationship finally ended was very much Giles’s own fault, and he’s made his peace with that.

(More accurately: he’s making efforts to make his peace with that. It’s the thought that counts, though, isn’t it?)

_“Do_ you want some tea?” says Anya hopefully. “Maybe Jenny will call and tell me when she’ll be back, and you can stick around till then. She’s been gone for nearly a week, so she should be back at _some _point, but she still has that snail guy in the Bahamas to talk to and she says he’s being _super _annoying.”

Giles is thinking, at that moment, about the three months of leave he had taken, and the honeymoon suite he had booked in the hotel, and the array of plans he had made to subtly yet pointedly make it clear to Jenny that he is now in a place where he can honestly be a good partner to her. He is thinking about the fact that his making himself into a better person in no way guaranteed that Jenny would be waiting around for him for an entire year, and that feeling miserable about the loss of any romantic possibilities would be a disservice to his friendship with her.

And he really would like to spend some time with Anya, now that he’s thinking about it. Not only because she’s now Jenny’s significant other—he has always admired Anya’s distinctive charm and her impatience with social customs. Anya prefers things simple and honest. Giles, mired in years of duplicitous Watcher customs, can’t help but appreciate that.

“I would like some tea,” he says.

“Oh, yay!” Anya claps her hands, beaming up at him. “And don’t worry—_I _know how to make an actual cup of tea. You’ve dated Jenny long enough to know how bad she is at it, right?”

“Yes, she’s quite terrible,” Giles agrees, surprised to find himself smiling. “Endearing of her, really.”

“Pfft,” says Anya. “Absence makes the brain grow stupid.”

“Oh, is that the phrase?” says Giles dryly.

Anya gives him a Look, then says, “Jenny once put a teabag in a metal cup full of milk and then put all of that in the microwave because she wanted to _try something new.”_

“Dear lord,” says Giles. “You let her in the _kitchen?”_

Anya’s laughter is a warm, melodious sound. Another smile steals across Giles’s face as he watches her.

* * *

When Giles enters the cozy, welcoming little apartment, he finds himself rather struck by its _warmth. _Sunlight streams in through the living room window, illuminating the cluttered coffee table and the overstuffed bookshelves. Tara is snuggled on the couch with Faith’s head in her lap and a large brown-and-white dog at her feet. Art prints and silly photographs decorate the walls, interspersed with genuinely rare and ancient magical artifacts here and there. Giles pauses by a delicate etching of a quail, feeling the hum of magic around it: _home._

“It’s a little bit of a mess in here,” says Anya apologetically. Tara and Faith both start at seeing Giles, upon which Anya says brightly, “Guys, Giles is here! He wanted to see Jenny, but, well—”

“Jen’s off in Peru,” says Faith.

“Was it Peru?” says Tara, frowning. “I thought it was Portugal.”

“She’s been somewhere different every day,” says Anya, bubbling over with pride in the same way Giles remembers she used to about Xander. He didn’t at all understand it back then. He thinks he does now. “She’s remarkably efficient _and _remarkably charismatic _and—”_

“Yeah, we get it, Anya, you love your girlfriend,” teases Faith. “You gonna talk about anything _other _than Jen anytime soon?”

“Big talk coming from a girl who once spent half an hour rambling about how Tara’s hair looks like sunshine,” says Anya dryly, crossing into the kitchenette and rummaging in the cupboards for a cup of tea.

Tara makes a soft, appreciative noise, leaning down to press a kiss to Faith’s forehead. “Did you?”

“What_ever,_” says Faith, smiling lazily up at her. She looks _happier, _Giles realizes—happier than he’s ever seen her before. Something about that tugs at him in a strange, sad way: that these women all had to leave Sunnydale’s orbit to find a pocket of happiness somewhere else.

Was it really so awful there, he thinks? Or was it just that _they _were awful, at the time?

“Tea!” sings out Anya, cutting sharply thought Giles’s miserable haze. He looks up with a small smile, and sees that she’s tied up her much-longer-than-he-remembers brown hair into a bizarre little updo, keeping it out of the way as she puts the kettle on. “What kind would you like, Rupert? Any particular blend?”

Hearing his first name takes Giles aback. It’s not a name that anyone has used for a very long time, and coming from Anya, it feels…he doesn’t entirely know how to describe it. Too flustered to remember what tea _is, _let alone pick a blend he might like, he stammers out, “Yes, well—whatever you think is most appropriate,” and does his best not to look like he’s blushing.

“Careful, Giles,” says Faith. “She’s taken. _And_ I’ve heard her girlfriend is the jealous type—though I’d guess _you’d _know that.”

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous, Faith,” says Anya warmly, her attention entirely on setting up a snack platter. “I’m not Rupert’s type at all. He likes…” She trails off. “Tiny brunettes.”

“Aren’t you a tiny brunette?” Faith points out.

“Aren’t _you _a tiny brunette?” Anya shoots back.

“I’ve never felt so glad to be blonde,” mumbles Tara.

“Putting an end to _that _deeply concerning topic of conversation,” says Giles pointedly, “I would like to stress that I have not an iota of interest in dating young girls, and never will.”

“Hey, I’m full-on woman—” Faith begins indignantly, sitting up.

“You,” says Giles, “were in high school not five years ago. Sit down.”

“And what about me?” says Anya playfully.

The question makes Giles’s cheeks heat up. He hopes she doesn’t notice. “You’re seeing a woman I was previously involved with,” he says with a laugh, hoping he can play said laugh off as something suave and teasing instead of bewildered panic. “I can’t think of a more complex romance to entangle myself in. Thank you, Anya, but I think I’ll be looking _outside _this apartment for my dating options.”

Anya looks at him for a second longer, a strange furrow to her brow, but then—by some miracle—she turns away.

Feeling somewhat grateful that the topic has been dropped, and unsure of exactly _why—_he doesn’t have anything he’s hiding, after all—Giles sits down in the easy chair next to the couch. Faith has gone back to lying down with her head in Tara’s lap, and Tara has gone back to absently playing with Faith’s hair. “I-it’s good to see you, Mr. Giles,” says Tara earnestly, “if a little unexpected.”

“Jenny didn’t mention to you guys that he might be coming by?” calls Anya from the kitchenette, sounding surprised.

“No, she _did,_” Faith clarifies. “Guess we just kinda assumed it’d be happening after Jen got _back._ Not like Giles just drops by to see _Anya _or something.”

There’s something bizarrely mocking to her tone. Giles doesn’t care to examine it. “W-well,” he stammers, “if I’m not imposing, I might like to stay on a bit longer. Spend some time with all of you. I intended to make this a vacation—I don’t see how that has to change whether or not Jenny’s here.”

Tara and Faith exchange a slightly startled look. Then Tara says, “N-not that we don’t appreciate that, but are you sure you’re interested in visiting _us? _We thought—” She stops herself there, blushing.

“We thought you were only interested in visiting _Jen,” _Faith finishes, clearly not uncomfortable in her honesty.

Giles considers this. He doesn’t think lying to his hosts within the first twenty minutes of seeing them constitutes good etiquette. “I did indeed show up to visit only Jenny,” he says truthfully. “I didn’t think very much about the rest of you when I made my plans, largely because Jenny has been a part of my life for a good five years at this juncture.” Dead or alive, he thinks, she’s always been a part of his life. “But I should like to rectify that. Jenny is my friend, and you are all Jenny’s friends, and—if I am to be a part of her life, I should like to be better acquainted with the people in it.”

“Sure this isn’t just some ploy to woo her over?” says Faith doubtfully.

“Mr. Giles wouldn’t do that!” says Tara to Faith. As Faith closes her eyes, Tara looks up at Giles, giving him a split-second, honestly terrifying look that makes it clear what, exactly, will happen if Mr. Giles attempts to snatch away Anya’s girlfriend. “He’s a gentleman,” Tara says, sweet and level. “Isn’t he?”

Good lord, Giles thinks. And he thought _Willow _was the terrifying one. “Right,” he says. “Obviously.”

“Tea!” Anya chirps again, rounding the corner with a tray containing a large snack platter, a plate of scones, and three piping hot mugs of tea. She hands the biggest one to Giles. “Milk and sugar,” she says proudly. “Three-point-five lumps exactly. I remember ‘cause I’d always notice you making it before we opened and think _wow, that’s weirdly specific._”

“Thank you, Anya,” says Giles, and as dry as his tone is, he finds himself genuinely meaning it.

* * *

When Giles attempts to take his leave, Anya says indignantly, “Oh, no, Giles, we have room to put you up here if you like!” And when Giles attempts to explain that all his things are at the hotel, Tara says, “I’ll go get them, then!” and grabs Faith’s hand, pulling her out of the room. And when Giles attempts to ask why, exactly, they’re all so fine with him staying at the apartment, Anya says with a little scoff, “Dummy, it goes both ways! You want to know us because we’re important to Jenny—well, _we _wanna know _you, _seeing as _you’re _important to _her.” _And that seems to be the end of the matter.

The room Giles is staying in was very clearly Anya’s at one point. The drawers are full of lacy, expensive-looking clothing that matches Anya’s sensibilities more than Jenny’s, and the room is decorated in a frilly, flouncy, extravagant way that reminds Giles of the blouse Anya was wearing when he entered the shop earlier that day. It feels as though he’s surrounded by her, and he finds himself again feeling that strange pull of…something. He can’t quite place what it is.

“—no, darling, I’d _tell _you if I minded,” Anya’s saying in the hallway, voice slightly muffled but still audible through the barely-ajar door. Giles moves to close it all the way, pretending he’s not listening. “No, of course not!” Anya continues. “Look, he’s—it’s nice to see him, okay? I don’t care at all that you two dated. He was my business partner, and I _like _him, and I think very highly of him. We both know him well enough to know that he is _not _here to steal you away.” A laugh. “Well, he’s not here to steal _me _away either, though it’s very flattering that you think that.”

Her words stick in Giles’s mind for the rest of the night.

* * *

Giles is largely expecting the next day to be business as usual; he can’t imagine Anya being one to take a day off, even if it is for an old friend. He’s therefore thoroughly surprised when Anya announces, “Put on something suitable for public transit, Rupert, because _we _are going to Crissy Field and there’s nothing you can do about it!”

Giles looks at Anya. Then Giles looks out the window. It’s very clearly not the sort of weather one goes to the beach in: cold and foggy, enough so that the sky is white instead of blue.

“Oh, hush,” says Anya. “It’s the San Francisco experience. Tara, Faith, do you two wanna come?”

“Someone should keep an eye on the shop,” says Tara. “I-I think I’ll stay behind.”

“Tara, we don’t know how long Rupert’s here for!” Anya persists. “I’m willing to let you two take the day off if you want to.”

“Oh, um—” Giles blushes, figuring he should come clean. “I did take three months of leave,” he says. “Time isn’t really of the essence if Tara and Faith would like to stay back from this excursion.”

Anya, Tara, and Faith all look at him with surprise. “Three months?” Anya repeats.

“Of course, I understand that it’s an imposition—I had been intending to stay in a hotel—” Giles stammers, flustered.

But then Anya throws her arms impulsively around his neck, pulling him down into a hug. Giles’s stomach does a strange little _twist _thing at the prolonged physical contact. He hasn’t been intimate with anyone since Jenny—largely because he was solely focused on piecing himself back together, after her—and it’s been a while since he’s seen any of the old Scoobies. Buffy and Xander and Willow are all often busy, and of course Anya and Tara and Jenny all live very far away—

“Well,” says Anya, “now you have _no _excuse not to stay until Jenny comes back, and _then _some.”

“You’re really fine with that?” says Giles before he can stop himself.

Anya considers the question, then says, “Giles, even before you were my girlfriend’s dear friend, you were still _my _friend too. No matter how many weird degrees of separation separate us, you’re still gonna mean something to me.”

Behind her, Tara and Faith exchange a Look. Giles isn’t entirely sure what that Look means. “O-oh,” he says softly, finding himself smiling. “Well. That’s. That’s very kind of you, Anya.”

“I’m not kind,” says Anya, giving him a bright smile back. “I’m just straightforward about my feelings. Sometimes they’re good ones.” She turns back to Tara and Faith, who hastily school their faces into expressions less contemplative and knowing. “Tara, Faith, have your answers changed?”

Tara considers, then says, “W-well, not really. Maybe we can all go out for dinner?” She gives Giles a small, shy smile. “If you’re here for three months, Mr. Giles, I’m sure we can all visit the beach together sometime. Today’s a busy day for customers; I’d hate to shut the shop down and miss out on a profit.”

Slowly, Giles looks over at Anya, who has never _once _attempted to shut the shop down on a day where the shop is expecting more customers than usual. “What?” says Anya, looking guilelessly up at him.

Faith snickers. “She _really _likes you, G,” she says. “Don’t fuck it up.”

“I’m not—” Blushing, Giles hurries back to his room, preparing to change into something more beach-appropriate. Faith’s laughter follows him down the hall.

A suit seems staid and formal, so Giles finds a warm sweater and some jeans, checking himself in Anya’s mirror and feeling strangely self-conscious. He’s older than he used to be, and it shows, and then there’s Anya—sunnily, stunningly beautiful, even though she’s _hundreds _of years older than him. He doesn’t know why he feels like it suddenly matters, the way they might look at the beach together, but…he thinks it does.

He frowns at himself in the mirror. It makes him look older still.

“Giles, quit pulling faces at the mirror and get your butt out here,” says Anya unsympathetically from the door. Her hair is in two tiny pigtail braids, and she’s wearing a sweater that Giles recognizes as Jenny’s. “I am _not _getting caught in morning traffic. Or afternoon traffic. Or _any _traffic.”

“The way you drive, I’d fear for our lives if there were other cars on the road,” says Giles dryly.

Anya doesn’t huff indignantly, the way she used to back in Sunnydale. She giggles, instead. “I missed you,” she says. “I didn’t realize it, but I kind of did.”

Some barrier between him and her falls away. Suddenly, Giles doesn’t feel like sarcastic needling. “I missed you too,” he says, softly, and he feels just as surprised as she seems. “It’s lovely to see you again, Anya. I’m glad I’ll be seeing more of you in the coming days.”

Anya smiles. It’s a new smile, strangely shy, and it makes Giles feel glad he’s in a sweater instead of a suit. The less distance between them, the better. “Beach?” she says.

“Beach,” Giles agrees, and lets her tow him out of the guest bedroom.

* * *

Crissy Field is no colder than England at certain times of year, and Giles finds the chilly climate strangely comforting. Sunnydale had always been too hot for his tastes, and even in the winter, he’d felt rather out of place. But this is the sort of weather one _needs _a sweater for, and as Giles digs his hands into his pockets, Anya chattering away at his side, he feels bizarrely at home.

“—and I came here with Jenny once,” Anya says, catching Giles’s attention. “She loves the beach. She hates that it’s never _beach-y _weather here, though, so she never goes. She says there’s no point in going to the beach if you can’t get a tan.”

“I think I disagree,” says Giles.

“I know, right?” Anya does a little twirl, kicking some sand into Giles’s face. He coughs, brushing it away, and finds himself somewhat amused that Anya doesn’t even notice—so enraptured is she by the cold, dreary ocean around them. “It’s so peaceful and quiet on the cold days,” she says. “You get to be all reflective and broody and think about how far you’ve come or whatever. I love that.” She grins up at him. “Though of course it’s hard to brood when _you’re _around, Rupert.”

“Well—” says Giles, pleased.

“You spend enough time sulking about things for both of us,” says Anya. “I couldn’t possibly compete with your level of sad-Englishman.”

Giles snorts. “I’m deeply flattered,” he says, extending his arm to Anya without really thinking. She takes it, tucking her small, gloved hand into the crook of his elbow as they continue to walk, and Giles’s brain shuts down for a solid ten seconds. He manages to compose himself when they see half of a sand dollar sticking out of the shore up ahead. “Do you collect little sea treasures?” he asks, casting desperately about for something to talk about besides _please never remove your hand from me._

“Sometimes,” says Anya. “For Jenny. But I’ve yet to find the perfect sand dollar for her—I’m holding out until I find a whole one.”

Giles tugs himself awkwardly free of Anya, moving forward to pull the sand dollar all the way out of the sand. Brushing clumps of wet sand away, he holds it up for Anya’s inspection, feeling more smug than he ever has a right to be. “How’s that?” he says.

“Oh, that’s not _fair!” _says Anya hotly, storming up to yank the whole, perfect sand dollar out of Giles’s hands. “I spend _months _looking for the damned thing, and you find it two seconds after I tell you about my plans?”

“I’m happy to give it to Jenny—”

“But it’s supposed to be from _me!” _says Anya. “It won’t be the same if I know I wasn’t able to find it for her!”

“We found it together, didn’t we?” says Giles. “I was only the one who picked it up to bring it over to you.”

Anya frowns, considering this. Reluctantly, she says, “I’ll _think _about it,” and tucks the sand dollar carefully into her purse. “I _might _give it to her,” she says. “_Maybe.”_

“Of course,” says Giles, amused.

“I can’t _believe _you,” Anya grumbles, but she tucks her arm back into his anyway, bumping her cheek resentfully against his shoulder. Giles looks down at her and can’t keep the fondness out of his smile.

* * *

They go to Fort Funston the next day—early in the morning, before the shop opens, because Anya likes taking Saint George out for long walks where he can meet other dogs. It’s still appallingly foggy, and Giles is appallingly glad of it—even if, according to Anya, he’s missing an excellent skyline. “The view’s _so _pretty on sunny days,” she says. “Sometimes Jenny and I go out on early-morning walks.”

“_Do _you,” says Giles, amused. When he and Jenny were dating, she’d regularly sleep in till noon if given the opportunity.

Anya pulls a face. “Okay, fine,” she says. “You caught me. I usually have to physically drag her out of the house, and even _then _she just spends the entire time napping in the car.”

“Well, I like early-morning walks,” says Giles, “if ever you need the company.”

“Is that a proposition?”

The teasing note to Anya’s voice doesn’t change the fact that it’s still a question Giles doesn’t know how to answer. “I-I, ah,” he stammers, blushing furiously.

Anya laughs at his face. “God, Giles, you’re really ridiculous,” she says. “I know you’re not the kinda guy to hit on a taken lady—and even if you _were, _I don’t think it’d be _me _you’d be going after.”

It touches Giles, that she’s so willing and ready to trust him. They both know that he has feelings for Jenny, and yet Anya isn’t threatened or insulted by them. She doesn’t expect him to stop loving Jenny just because Jenny’s seeing someone else, even though that person is her. “Fair point,” he concedes. “Jenny would indeed be my primary target.” He hears his voice soften. “But I-I’m glad we’re at the point where we can joke about that, Anya. I hope you know—”

“I know,” says Anya, just as seriously, just as gently. She tucks her hand into the crook of his elbow. “You’re a perfect gentleman, Rupert.”

The compliment makes Giles blush. He seems to be blushing a lot around Anya, lately. He’s about to return the favor—say something about how much he appreciates her trust, most likely—when Saint George, spotting a pigeon, tugs _hard _on the leash, yanking Anya along with him. Her alarmed shriek spurs Giles into action: he grabs her by the waist, pulling her backwards to steady her against him.

Finding the resistance on his leash less of a suggestion and more of an order, Saint George gets the hint. He sits down, turning baleful brown eyes on Giles and Anya.

Anya’s head falls back against Giles’s chest. She’s a little breathless. “Goodness!” she says. “Usually he just pulls me along until he gets bored. I’m _very _glad you’re here, Rupert. I hope you’ll stay _much _longer; I appreciate your steady hands.” With the hand that isn’t still holding the leash, she reaches down to lightly rest it over his own hands—clasped against her stomach, holding her tightly to him.

“Ah,” says Giles, embarrassed. “Yes. Sorry. I didn’t want you toppling over. He’s quite a strong dog, isn’t he?”

“Well, Jenny imprinted on him and you _know _how hard it is to say no to her,” says Anya earnestly, tugging herself carefully free of his arms. Handing Giles the leash, she smooths down her hair, cheeks still a bit pink from…being yanked by the leash? Giles isn’t quite sure. “Usually he behaves a little better if he’s walking with _her. _He’s more rambunctious if it’s me.” She giggles. “I think he knows I’m a little more playful than Jenny.”

“Oh, no, you two are neck and neck,” says Giles, thinking of monster trucks and football games. “Rather terrifying, really.”

“Wait till she gets back,” says Anya with a giggle, linking their arms again. Saint George gets up, and Giles sets the pace, both of them strolling along the dusty trail. “You’re gonna be outnumbered big-time.”

“I don’t doubt it,” says Giles ruefully.

“There’s this bubble tea place on Irving that I think we should—”

“Bubble tea?” Giles repeats, frowning.

Anya blinks. “Bubble tea,” she says. “You know. Boba?”

“…no,” says Giles, feeling a vague sense of fear. “Why would tea have bubbles.”

“Ooh, I am looking _forward _to this,” says Anya, sounding positively delighted. “Jenny gets back, you and me and her, we’re going out and we’re getting bubble tea.”

“I object on principle,” says Giles.

“What principle?”

“Tea should not have bubbles,” says Giles. “It’s unholy.”

“No, the bubbles are—never mind. You’d complain anyway.” Anya pats his shoulder, grinning. “I’m gonna call Jenny and tell her that you’re afraid of boba.”

“I am not—I simply don’t—” Coming to the realization that he’s fighting a losing battle, Giles decides to aim for distraction instead. He changes the subject. “Has Jenny sent you any news of how her work for the Apothecary is going? It really is an innovative business model.”

“Thanks,” says Anya, practically glowing. “Almost all my idea. With some help from Jenny, of course, but mostly it was me.”

“I’d expect nothing less,” says Giles. Looking at her—an accomplished entrepreneur with a shop of her own—he feels suddenly very glad. He remembers where and when she started. It brings him great joy to see who she has become. “You have a good head on your shoulders, Anya, and the Apothecary has clearly reaped the benefits of having you at the helm.”

Anya blinks, eyes wide, then grins. “Gosh!” she says. “You were _never _this nice to me when I was your employee!”

Giles ducks his head, embarrassed. “Clearly I didn’t appreciate your talent enough at the time,” he says.

“I mean, I _did _kinda need to get a _little _better at talking to people—”

“Oh, don’t,” says Giles. “You may be a bit blunt, but it’s served you well. You don’t have patience for idiocy. I can respect that.”

“_What _is with all the compliments today?” Anya playfully bumps his shoulder. “Did all those concussions finally knock something in your head loose?”

Giles isn’t sure _what _it is, really. The sun is beginning to come out, strands of sunlight weaving into Anya’s golden-brown hair. Coupled with her bright eyes and sunshine smile, she looks almost luminescent. “It’s good to see you,” he says truthfully. “It’s been a while since I’ve been around friends.”

“You’ll have to stay here a little longer, then,” teases Anya. “Once you start insulting me again, then I’ll know for _certain _you’re back to normal.”

Giles can’t help but laugh at that.

* * *

The day after that is a Saturday, and while Faith and Tara go on their usual Saturday date, Anya decides to drag Giles down to a nearby library. The architecture is old, but the furnishings and decorations are more modern in their sensibilities, and looking at the chaotic blend of old and new reminds Giles yet again of Jenny. Anya’s thinking about her too, clearly; she lingers by the computers for half a second longer than she needs to, and she checks out a programming book in a language that Jenny mentioned she’d been wanting to learn.

It's strange, spending time with Anya: here is another person whose life Jenny Calendar has touched and changed for the better. And yet that’s still not all that Anya is to him.

* * *

Tara and Faith meet them for dinner at a cozy little pizza place in the Presidio. Anya complains loudly and theatrically about the fact that Giles refuses to try bubble tea no matter _how _much she demands him to, but she does all of this with one hand on Giles’s shoulder and her knee bumping his under the table. Tara and Faith are looking at the both of them in a way that makes Giles feel uncomfortably _seen, _and so he tries to move away from Anya’s hand, but she gives him a reproving look that reminds him quite a lot of Jenny. He stays still. “Rupert, I don’t know _what _your problem is,” she says, “but you’ve clearly been lonely for a _very _long time. You’re not escaping friendship this time around if I have any say in the matter.”

Something about that makes Giles relax. He’s being ridiculous, and he knows it. “Fair enough,” he says, giving the table a wry smile. “I suppose I have been _dragged _into this, haven’t I?”

“Um, _you _turned up on _our _doorstep, Mr. Giles,” says Tara, sweet and playfully needling. “Wouldn’t that make _us _the ones imposed upon?”

“Do not say that,” says Anya. “Don’t. He’ll get all reserved and British and use your words as an excuse to withdraw.”

“You think so little of me,” says Giles. “Perhaps I’m inclined to be an inconvenience, this time around.”

Faith snorts. “You and me both, pal,” she says. “I’m a live-in leech. Didn’t even have to buy a place in SF—just grabbed onto this one and never let go.” She presses a smacking kiss to Tara’s cheek. Tara beams, blushing.

“Well, you’re a very helpful leech,” says Anya sincerely. “You pick up many heavy boxes and you make Tara very happy.”

Giles takes a bite of pizza. It’s quite good, he thinks. Better than he was expecting it to be. “And speaking of romantic bliss,” he says, “how _is _your lovely girlfriend doing, Anya?”

Anya gives him an assessing look. When Giles’s expression doesn’t waver, her face relaxes, and there’s genuine happiness to her smile when she answers. “Jenny’s coming back in two days,” she says. “She’s been gone for _much _too long—”

“It’s only been a week,” teases Tara.

“_Much _too long,” says Anya stubbornly.

“She’s doing good business,” says Faith.

“Yes, well, my girlfriend being here to kiss me and have sex with me is much more important than business,” says Anya.

_That _takes Giles aback. Even deeply in love with Xander, Anya had always held the shop in high regard. If asked to choose between Xander and money, she’d certainly choose Xander, but not without a moment of hesitation. Anya isn’t the sort of person to describe _anything _as _much more important than business, _and yet—

“You really do love her very much,” he realizes aloud, not sure why he’s so surprised, not sure why he’s so _happy. _He feels as though he should be jealous in this situation, but he’s _not. _“I’m so glad to hear that.”

Anya, Tara, and Faith _all _seem rather taken aback by this statement. “Really?” says Faith. Tara elbows her in the side.

“Oh—” Anya turns pink. “Thank you, I think? I mean, it wasn’t really something I can control. You of all people should know quite well how easy it is to fall in love with Jenny.”

All of this feels like it should be so much more uncomfortable and difficult than it is—and yet it’s not. There’s a reason for that, Giles thinks, but he cannot for the life of him figure out what that reason is. “I of all people _do _know,” he agrees. “She’s an extraordinary person. I’m glad she’s found someone similarly wonderful.”

Anya’s blush deepens. She’s turned almost entirely towards him, now, her knees resting snugly against the side of his leg, her hand still on his shoulder. She looks up at him in the warm, dim light of the pizza place with a shy half-smile. “You’re being very nice to me,” she says.

“You’re easy to be nice _to,_” says Giles.

Faith knocks over her glass of water.

The spell broken, Giles and Anya startle apart. _Ah, _Giles thinks, heat rushing to his cheeks. _There’s that self-conscious feeling I was looking for. _“Faith,” he manages, doing his best not to look at Anya, who has _definitely _removed her hand from his shoulder, “are you quite all right?”

“Yeah,” says Faith, who has made no effort to pick up her glass. Water continues to spread across the table as she looks Giles directly in the eye. “Just an accident. I was careless. It would have been bad if I’d _meant _to do it, but I’m careful enough with myself that I _wouldn’t.”_

Anya is looking down at her pizza, an unreadable expression on her face. The magic in the air is gone, Giles thinks, but he’s too bewildered by its sudden absence to really piece together _why._ “Do you need any napkins?” he offers, pulling his own off of his lap and handing it to Faith. “There are some paper napkins in the dispenser, too, if you—”

Tara firmly replaces the glass. _“Faith,” _she says reprovingly. Faith looks somewhat ashamed. “Whatever you’re trying to imply, I think you should think twice about it.”

“Tara—”

“Let’s go outside,” says Tara.

Directing one last wary look at Giles, Faith lets her girlfriend tug her out of the pizza place.

“I’m sorry,” says Giles to Anya, not quite sure what he’s apologizing for, but feeling that an apology is necessary nonetheless. “I—”

Anya looks up, eyes clouded and contemplative. She shakes her head a little as if to clear it, smiling awkwardly at him. “No, it’s—I don’t really know what Faith was trying to imply either,” she says. “I mean, I’m deeply in love with Jenny, and you’ve made it abundantly clear today that you respect and appreciate our relationship. I don’t see why that would—”

“Exactly,” says Giles, relieved.

“I mean, we can just be—”

“Friends.”

“Because that’s what we are.”

“Yes.”

A weight is settling into Giles’s stomach.

* * *

He lies awake for a very long time, that night. Disjointed images fill his mind: Jenny’s bright smile, Anya’s sparkling eyes, the cadence of Anya’s voice when she talks to the woman she loves. The way it feels to kiss Jenny—because god knows he couldn’t forget _that _if he tried. Anya’s arm tucked into his as though it fits there.

He feels as though he should be jealous of Anya, for getting to hold the woman he loves, for being a part of Jenny’s life in a way he never will again. He feels as though he should want Anya’s relationship with Jenny to fail. But all he can think about is how _happy _Jenny makes Anya, and how happy Anya must make Jenny, and how he would never want either of them unhappy even for a moment. Which is healthy, Giles thinks, but if that was all it was, then there wouldn’t be that undercurrent of _something else _that had ruined dinner at the pizza place that night.

And then, because he is almost asleep, he finds himself thinking of—of Anya, and Jenny, and him, and how love triangles still always require three lines. He thinks about the way it had felt when Jenny’s arm was tucked into his, and the way it feels to kiss Anya—

No. That’s.

Giles sits up in bed, running a hand through his hair. His heart is pounding. Why would he—how _could _he—

There’s a soft clatter in the hallway, and the sound of low, adoring voices. Giles gets up, opening his bedroom door halfway, and sees two figures embracing in front of Anya’s bedroom door, a wheeled suitcase knocked over onto its side. Anya’s buried her face in Jenny’s shoulder, and Jenny—Jenny looks _so _happy. Giles hasn’t seen Jenny this happy since the _first _time she was alive, with _him._ “Wrapped up early in Portugal,” she’s murmuring. “I really just couldn’t—oh!”

Giles hastens to shut the door, but Anya’s already looking up. He’s expecting both of their smiles to waver at the reminder of him, an interloper in their domestic bliss, but then Anya _beams _at him and says, “Rupert, look who came back early! She’s _here!”_ And Jenny removes an arm from Anya’s waist, refusing to let go of Anya but still beckoning Giles over, and suddenly Giles is _part _of their reunion. This should feel—he doesn’t know why it feels—

Jenny tilts her head up to look at him. “You look happier,” she says, smiling slightly. “Better. It’s good to see you.”

“Thank you, baby,” says Anya.

“I could not have been more clearly talking to Rupert,” says Jenny. At Anya’s pout, she rolls her eyes, then kisses her girlfriend on the cheek. “You look incandescent and I’ve died a thousand deaths every second I was away from you,” she says. “Happy?”

“Write me a love sonnet and we’re copacetic,” says Anya. Jenny snorts, ruffling Anya’s hair.

Giles steps back, feeling suddenly shy. He hasn’t really thought through what it might feel like to see Jenny for the first time in a _long _time—but it’s different than what he expected. Better, somehow. Jenny hasn’t been waiting around for him, and he hasn’t been waiting around for her. She found someone who loves her; he spent two years learning how to become comfortable in his own skin. “You look quite radiant with joy yourself,” he says.

“It’s all Anya,” says Jenny, tugging Anya into her side. “She’s the sunshine in my life.”

And—_there._ The misery catches up to Giles in one fell swoop, knocking the breath out of him as he looks at them both. He would never intrude on such happiness, but he has just realized how badly he _wants _to: not to be simply the love of Jenny’s life, or the center of Anya’s world, but to mean something to _both _of them. It’s greedy of him, Giles thinks. Disgusting of him. Looking at both of these women, wanting to be a part of both of their lives, his heart refusing to choose—

“I should go,” he says suddenly. “I have to go.”

Jenny and Anya look first puzzled, then hurt. “Rupert, I’ve barely _seen _you,” says Jenny. “Didn’t you come all the way down here just to say hi to me?”

“No, I—” Giles swallows, hard, searching for some easy lie that will help them let him go. None is coming to mind. “I do love you,” he says, not sure who he’s saying it to. He had been talking to Jenny, but halfway through, his eyes dart towards Anya as well. “I should simply—I’m realizing now that I-I couldn’t be more of an imposition if I tried.”

“Is this about seeing us together?” Anya sounds _deeply _hurt. “You said you were okay with it—”

“Yes,” says Giles, latching onto the only thing that can possibly save him: a half-truth. “Yes. It’s—I can’t—I have feelings for you. It’s too difficult for me. I need to leave.”

Jenny is now starting to look _extremely _angry. “Rupert,” she says flatly. “You can’t just show up here and—”

But a strange expression has crossed Anya’s face. Placing a hand on her girlfriend’s arm, she looks directly into Giles’s eyes. “Feelings for _who, _Giles?” she says.

_That _takes the wind out of Jenny’s sails, especially when she sees that Giles doesn’t seem able to answer.

“Rupert?”

“I can’t—” Giles swallows, hard. “Please don’t ask me that.”

“It’s a simple question, isn’t it?” says Anya. Jenny’s eyes are widening with a gradual comprehension. “I mean, you’re Jenny’s ex, you two have stayed in touch, you come back and see her in person for the first time in years and suddenly you have to leave—shouldn’t it be pretty easy to tell us you still have feelings for her? I wouldn’t be at all surprised, and neither would she. What do you have to lose by admitting to that?”

“Anya, please—” Giles begs. He can’t lie to her about this, not when he’s only now figured it out: it’s too new, too confusing, to even _explain, _let alone obfuscate.

“But if you had feelings for _me,_” says Anya slowly, and god, he can’t bear to have this dragged out any longer.

“Both,” says Giles before he can stop himself, the realization hitting him exactly as he says it.

Now _Anya’s _the one struck dumb. “What?” says Jenny.

“Both,” says Giles again. “I have feelings for both of you.”

Neither Jenny or Anya seem to know what to say to that.

“I need to leave,” says Giles. “I need—” He stumbles backwards into the guest bedroom, shutting the door. Neither of them stop him. Haphazardly and messily, he packs his suitcase, zipping it shut and pulling it out of the bedroom as fast as he can. Jenny and Anya are still standing there. He can’t look at them.

Halfway down the stairs, he realizes that he’s still in his pajamas and slippers. It’s too late to do much of anything about that, though, so he grabs his overcoat from the coatrack and hurries out into the early morning. He’ll have to find his own way to—somewhere. Not here.

He remembers that the honeymoon suite is still booked at the hotel.

* * *

Giles gets quite thoroughly inebriated at the hotel bar, staggers upstairs to a room covered with rose petals, is thrown _unpleasantly _back to another terrible night of roses and failed romance, and ends up drunkenly ruining the neatly made bedsheets, throwing them all onto the floor in an effort to make sure no rose petals remain when he lies down. He sleeps in very late, and wakes up with a throbbing headache, barely able to remember anything past his own name.

“Sit up,” says a voice, and Giles is tugged up to rest against some propped-up pillows. A cool hand rests against his forehead. “God, you’re an idiot,” says Jenny, and her hand moves to cup his face, thumb stroking his cheek. “Why is there a pile of rose petals by the trash can?”

_“In _the trash can,” Anya corrects. “And don’t you know? He found your dead body among rose petals. He’s never liked roses at all since then.” She dusts her hands off on her jeans. “I’m tidying up.”

“Ooh.” Jenny winces. “Yikes. Okay. I was gonna make fun of you for being all romance-is-dead, but now I don’t think that’s entirely appropriate.”

“He’s got a hangover, honey,” says Anya. “Is making fun of him appropriate at _all?”_

“Always,” says Jenny. “He’s an idiot.” She presses a kiss to Giles’s forehead. Everything is still a bit too blurred around the edges for him to make much sense of what’s going on, and his head is throbbing too hard to piece together what happened between him running away from the Apothecary and them taking gentle care of him as though he’s—as though they’re all—

“Water,” says Anya, handing a glass to Giles. He takes it, taking a long, careful sip. “Do you feel at all like throwing up?”

Wordlessly, Giles shakes his head. The bizarreness of the situation has finally sunk in. “What are you both—” His voice is dry and hoarse. He takes another sip of water before trying again. “What are you two doing here?”

Jenny and Anya exchange a look. Then Jenny says, “You don’t get to run away from your feelings anymore, okay? This is something we all need to seriously talk about.”

Giles shakes his head again, falling back into the pillows. He doesn’t want to talk about it at all.

“Rupert, what’s the problem?” says Anya with some frustration. “You told us something _really big. _Did you just expect us to let you skip town after that? You’re _important _to us.”

Giles sets the water down on the nearby bedside table, looking helplessly up at them. “I didn’t want my feelings to be an imposition,” he says. “I feel—terribly—about feeling them at all.”

“Well, don’t,” says Jenny. “Look—you’ve had more time than us to process, probably—”

“Not by much,” says Giles. “I figured it out as I was saying it.”

“—so just—what?” Jenny blinks. “Seriously?” She lets out a wry laugh. “Damn. You really didn’t waste any time in telling us, huh?”

“I didn’t entirely mean to,” says Giles quietly.

Anya sits down on the bed in front of him, almost on his lap. “We’ll talk about it when you’re feeling better,” she begins.

“No, I—you don’t have to let me down easy,” says Giles heavily. “Please don’t feel any obligation to do so.”

Anya and Jenny exchange a Look, one that clearly conveys This Man Is Ridiculous without saying a word. Then Jenny says, “What makes you so sure we’re going to let you down at _all?”_

Giles’s eyes snap up to meet theirs.

Anya gives Giles a soft, sturdy kiss on the cheek. “We have some stuff to talk about,” she says.

* * *

They end up watching a movie on TV—some soapy, ridiculous romantic comedy that Jenny cheerfully makes fun of for its entirety. Anya is settled on Giles’s left side, Jenny on his right, and every so often, one of them will shift or snuggle closer or brush a kiss against Giles’s cheek. Every time it happens, Giles misses a good five minutes of the movie, so focused is he on not devolving into complete and utter panic. His head still hurts rather badly; he can’t at all handle thinking about this entire situation for very long.

By the time the movie is over, though, Giles is beginning to feel a bit more like himself—enough to recognize that this visit to San Francisco is not going at all how he anticipated. He turns off the television, then says apprehensively, “How did you two find me?”

“We woke up Tara and made her perform a tracking spell,” says Anya.

“But doesn’t that require something of mine?” says Giles, frowning. “I packed everything and left—”

In answer, Anya digs in her pocket, then places something on the bedsheets: the unbroken sand dollar. She looks steadily up at him with a small smile. “It’s yours,” she says. “The spell knew you found it for me and Jenny, and you wanted both of us to have it. Since it was a gift from you, it counted _enough_ as something of yours for us to pinpoint the hotel you were staying at.”

“The honeymoon suite was kind of a stroke of luck,” Jenny admits. “We thought it might be a big enough room to put all three of us up for the night, because we figured you were probably gonna be kind of a mess when we found you, so we asked if anyone was staying in it. And the guy said there was, but the guy staying there had gone up by himself looking pretty messed up, so there was a good chance that the room might free up in a day or two.”

“And then we decided to take our chances,” says Anya proudly.

“Also pick the lock,” Jenny finishes.

Giles gives both of them a tentative smile. “I’m glad you did,” he said. “Waking up the way I did…it would have been quite dreadful without the both of you there.”

“I’ll say!” says Jenny. “What, did you drink the entire bar?”

“Be _nice _to him, Jenny!” says Anya reprovingly. “He’s been through a _lot!”_

“No, I do think I deserve _something _of a scolding—”

“Quiet, Rupert. You don’t get a say in this.”

Jenny snickers at his expression.

“You’re not off the hook either, missy!” says Anya. “No one’s allowed to make fun of _anyone _until all of this is sorted out.”

“Laying down the law,” says Jenny. “Hot.”

“Jenny, take this _seriously—”_

Jenny leans across Rupert and kisses Anya, soft and deliberate. She pulls back, shifts onto Giles’s lap, and kisses _him. _It’s the first time Giles has been kissed in at least two years. It takes him a moment to realize what’s happening, and just as he begins to tentatively respond, she pulls back, turning her attention to Anya. “I’m taking this _very _seriously,” she says, voice low and soft.

And the look on Anya’s face makes Giles’s heart turn over. It’s not anger, or jealousy, or hurt: it’s _interest, _intertwined with a warm affection. She’s smiling slightly, the indignation all but gone, as she moves up the bed to take Giles’s face in her hands. “Hi,” she whispers.

Giles has forgotten how to breathe.

Anya kisses him.

* * *

There is not, as it happens, quite as much talking as was originally intended.

* * *

It’s Anya who ends up in the middle, after, squirming herself in between them to make sure she’s able to touch both of them at the same time. She looks so ridiculously happy, hair mussed, eyes sparkling, and Giles can’t help but press another kiss to her bare shoulder. She tilts her head back, sighing, and Jenny kisses her throat. “I _like _this,” she says happily. “You were _right, _Jenny. He’s an _attentive _lover when he’s got his act together.”

“Is that what this is?” says Giles uncertainly. “I-I wouldn’t want to—I mean—”

“You know, _maybe _we should have talked beforehand,” says Jenny, brow furrowing. “I thought that this would kinda diffuse the tension and make it clear that we all want the same thing, but we didn’t really all specify what that thing was.”

“You go first,” says Giles, aware that he’s being a bit childish and not really caring.

Jenny gives Anya a help-me look, but Anya is too busy playing with Giles’s hair. Tentatively, Jenny says, “I—I think I’d like you to stay, Rupert. On a permanent basis. I know it’s a little selfish of me to want something like that, but…you do still mean a lot to me, and I do still love you very much. Anya’s very important to me, and I’d never want to jeopardize my relationship with her—but if she’s comfortable with you being a part of this, then I want that.”

“And a part would mean?” says Giles, a little wary. Though he does love them both, he doesn’t at all want to be an afterthought to Jenny and Anya’s relationship.

But Anya softens, looking at him like she knows what he’s thinking. “Well, we love you,” she says, “and you love us, and we’ve all known each other for quite a long time. So I’d be dating Jenny and you, and Jenny would be dating you and me, and you’d be dating us.”

This almost seems too good to be true. “So—”

“You wouldn’t be third-wheeling, Rupert,” says Anya, and rolls over onto her side to kiss him again, long and slow. She pulls away to kiss his nose. “I’m starting to think that I love you too,” she says. “I loved working with you in the Magic Box, and you’ve been an excellent business partner, and these last few days you’ve been…” She trails off. “You didn’t make it a secret that you still had feelings for Jenny,” she says. “You pretty much outright told me that you did. But you also made it really clear that your feelings for her weren’t intended to be a threat to my relationship with her, and that my friendship was something really important to you. I’ve never met a man who’s put so much effort into _not _ruining someone else’s relationship, especially when he has feelings for one of the people involved.” She amends her statement, startled at her own realization: “_Both _of the people involved.”

“Right?” says Jenny. “He’s excellent. I have great taste.”

“_I _have great taste,” says Anya.

“Ladies, ladies,” says Giles, because he thinks this is very funny, and is immediately hit in the face with a pillow. He spits out a feather and says, _“Really!”_

“But you haven’t said what you want, Rupert,” says Anya plaintively.

“To _not _be hit in the face with pillows,” says Giles, rubbing at his nose.

“Can’t promise that,” cracks Jenny, grinning.

Giles feels himself smiling too, small and shy and altogether very hopeful. Then he says, “I-I should like to stay in San Francisco for the three months I have off, and if those three months go well, I should like to stay…” He trails off. _Forever _is a strong word, and he’s learned not to put too much store into happily-ever-after. “As long as you’ll have me.”

“Sweetheart, those are your _travel plans.”_ Jenny reaches over Anya to take Giles’s hand in hers, lacing their fingers together. A lifetime ago, at her touch, Giles had thought _this is the only other person whose soul could ever match mine so perfectly. _Now—she’s Jenny. She’s Jenny, and he loves her, and there’s no real overarching soulmate symbolism to it. Something about that feels more permanent than predestined love. “It’s _close _to what I asked you, but what do you want from _us?”_

Giles considers the question. This, he thinks, is one that needs a _truly _honest answer.

* * *

When Giles wakes up twenty-four hours later, his suitcase is propped up in the corner of a bedroom that is now Jenny’s, Anya’s, and his. Jenny, a late sleeper, is settled in his arms, head resting on his chest as she dozes. Anya, an early riser, is getting dressed in front of the mirror; she turns with a grin to look at him. “Hey, sleepy,” she says. “How’s Fort Funston sound? Now that you’re here _all _the time, I finally get to have a walking buddy.”

“…where are my pillows going,” mumbles Jenny into Giles’s chest.

“Is that all we are to you?” says Giles, amused. “Pillows?”

Jenny tightens her grip on Giles’s shirt. “Anya, he was mine _first,_” she says, “and you had him all _week—”_

“Jenny,” says Anya, “this is not about Rupert—who, I might add, is _just _as much mine as yours. This is just about you wanting another person in the bed to snuggle up to.”

“I have dibs,” says Jenny, who clearly isn’t listening. She’s already falling back asleep.

“As lovely as Fort Funston sounds,” says Giles, “Jenny does rather have a point. She’s been gone for a _while, _Anya, shouldn’t we cater to her needs?”

Anya _huffs, _glowering. “But I’ve just gotten dressed!”

In response to this, Jenny lets go of Giles, rolls over onto her back, props herself up on her elbows, looks up at Anya through her lashes, and says, simply, “Honey?”

“Oh, _fuck _you,” says Anya, and crosses the room, plopping herself down on Jenny’s other side. “Fuck you very much. Tomorrow Rupert and I are gonna start getting up early and absolutely _not _coddling you, you can bet on that—”

“Love you,” says Jenny in a soft, sleepy voice.

Anya’s indignance melts in an instant. “I love you too, baby.”

“She’s got you wrapped around her finger, you know,” Giles informs Anya teasingly.

“Big words from the man who didn’t even get out of bed,” Anya shoots back, and leans across Jenny to brush her lips against Giles’s. And Anya pulls back and her eyes are shining; she looks as happy as he’s ever seen her. “I love you,” she says.

“Love you too,” say Giles and Jenny at the same time. Then Giles says, “No, Jenny, she meant _me—_”

“She meant _both _of us.”

“She always means both of us but this time was _mostly _me, Jenny, she was _looking _at me—”

“Please do fight over me,” says Anya cheerfully, snuggling into Jenny’s other side. “I’ll watch while eating exorbitant amounts of popcorn.”

* * *

Twenty-four hours before that, for the first time since arriving in San Francisco, Rupert Giles tells the complete and total truth.

“All of us,” he says. “Loving each other. I think that’s what I want.”

“Oh, _good!” _says Anya blissfully, and pulls him into a kiss, and Jenny drapes her arms around his neck and kisses him on the cheek, and that warm, cozy, utterly magical feeling of the little San Francisco apartment encircles Giles. And then he realizes: it wasn’t the apartment that made him feel so happy, so at home. It was _them, _permeating every corner of it. Jenny and Anya. The women he will never stop loving.


End file.
